


Potential

by silvered



Category: Tekken
Genre: Canon Era, Complicated Relationships, First Time, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Rescue, Rival Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-08 23:32:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11656959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvered/pseuds/silvered
Summary: The first time Hwoarang ever met Jin Kazama, they drew. A few years later, they meet again at the King of Iron Fist Tournament.Or: Tekken 3, but from Hwoarang's POV.





	1. Courtesy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galerian_ash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/gifts).



> I've taken a few liberties with the storyline, but mostly in line with canon. If I had more time to write this it might have been twice as long and contained 100x as many T3 references ...it's good that it didn't turn out that way.
> 
> Many thanks to the lovely acequeenking for betaing - you're the best ♥

Hwoarang remembered the first time they’d met.

He remembered everything; the sting of sweat running into the cut on his cheek. The way the old man had laughed and pounded Jin on the back. The way Baek had dragged him away, howling for a rematch.

But most of all, he remembered the way Jin’s dark eyes had burned into him then, and the way they haunted his thoughts and dreams for years after.

It was this he couldn’t forgive; he knew he would never have been held to a draw – a draw! – if he hadn’t been so distracted.

It would be something seeing Jin again, and seeing him in this context. The King of Iron Fist Tournament was incredibly prestigious. Only twenty fighters were selected from hundreds of thousands qualifying the previous year. Hwoarang himself had fought through three months of qualifiers to make it here.

Did Jin remember him? He doubted it. He gazed up at Jin’s tournament poster; Jin glared down at him, twenty feet tall, arms folded. The brows were the same, but he couldn’t see his eyes too well with the lights shining right into his face like that. Supposedly they had made posters like this for all the competitors, but Hwoarang hadn’t seen his own one anywhere. He’d seen plenty of Jin and Heihachi. _Can’t imagine Heihachi wants billboards of some punk Korean all over his fine city_.

“Don’t get hung up on that. The Mishimas own Tokyo,” Baek had warned him. “Your fighting skills are the only thing that matter here and you have nothing to be modest about.”

“Am I ever?” Hwoarang had cracked, relishing the smile Baek gave him.

Hwoarang supposed he’d better go inside. He adjusted the stiff collar of the shirt Baek had made him take – “I’m not going to be there, but please try to behave yourself. Stay one hour at the pre-tournament party and then leave,” Baek had warned him – and took a breath of the cold night air before pushing his way inside.

There were security men everywhere, more of them than competitors, and so Hwoarang drew interest immediately. His competitor’s badge and registration were checked and although he got a few suspicious looks, there was nothing to keep him out. He snatched a glass of champagne from a tray as he went past the desk, wished he’d had a cigarette.

He recognised everyone from the competitors’ handbook. The Williams sisters, throwing sneers from opposite sides of the room. Baek had mentioned them; Hwoarang shook his head. He’d never had a family to fight with, it all seemed so pointless to him. Heihachi Mishima he spotted holding court with a circle of women, laughing loudly enough to shatter every glass in the building. There was Lei Wulong – Baek knew him too. Hwoarang narrowed his eyes and gave him a wide berth; Lei wouldn’t have any power over him here, but a cop was a cop. Wait – did that young Chinese girl have a real panda?!

He was aware, too, of the flickering looks the others gave him, sizing him up. Hwoarang never doubted his abilities and he sincerely doubted anyone who’d learned to fight in a dojo could beat Seoul’s undisputed king of street fighting. Sure, Baek taught him technique, but he knew what to do when a fight turned nasty. Could anyone here say the same? No Jin, but maybe he wasn’t here yet. Hwoarang couldn’t imagine that Jin would be allowed to miss the party, any more than Baek would have allowed him. Jin would turn up, he was sure of it.

Hwoarang had wandered over to the food nobody else was touching, when he caught a whiff of something cool and fresh, and whipped his head up to see Jin Kazama move quickly to the other side of a column. He rolled his eyes; had Kazama really been avoiding him all this time?

He took a quick look around. There was no one else nearby. Maybe he could get a word unobserved. He stepped around the opposite side of the pillar before Jin could escape.

“Hey.”

Jin looked startled.  He was wearing an expensive-looking white suit with the shirt buttons undone to mid-chest. He’d grown taller since their last meeting, and broader too. Hwoarang swept an assessing eye over him quickly; he looked tough enough but this time he’d lose. This time those eyes would’t distract him. They were the same as before – dark, tinged with sadness and something – Hwoarang realised he’d been staring at Jin for a while. He needed to say something, quickly.

“Do you remember me?”

Now it was Jin’s turn to look and Hwoarang stood still and let him have a good look. He had nothing to be ashamed of. He was taller, for one thing, and though not quite as built as Jin, he was lean and honed from Baek’s brutal regime. He’d dyed his dark hair red, but something seemed to click in Jin’s dark eyes as he considered and when he locked gazes with Hwoarang again, there was a hint of recognition. Was it Hwoarang’s imagination or did Jin’s eyes linger just a bit longer than they should? He hoped not. He hated being wrong almost as much as he hated not winning a fight.

“Did we fight before?”

“Yeah, Seoul, four years back. You – ”

“Oh,” Jin said, eyes going wide and Hwoarang immediately tensed. What did that even mean, what was he trying to say? “Oh, you bragged so much upfront and you couldn’t even beat me?” “Oh, you thought you were so tough, but I saw the way you looked at me and I know you thought about me when you jerked off that night?”

Oh, oh, _oh_.

Jin stood up straight, swept his fringe off his forehead.

“Yes, I remember you. You were tough. It was a good fight. I hope I meet you again.”

What are we doing now, Hwoarang almost blurted, but then he realised Jin meant in the tournament.

“You’re the only guy I never beat. I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

Jin’s eyes widened and Hwoarang realised he’d raised his voice; heads were turning their way. Jin took a step back and Hwoarang, after some hesitation, moved away too.

“I need some rest,” Jin said, inclining his head abruptly. He moved swiftly towards the exit and Hwoarang looked after him, a little deflated. So that was it?

Hwoarang was turning to the abandoned buffet, when he caught a flash of white out of the corner of his eye, and looked up.

Jin hovered in the doorway, almost out of sight. When he saw Hwoarang look at him, Jin turned and left.

He means for me to follow him, Hwoarang thought, and without speaking to anyone else he made his way to the exit. The hallway outside was unlit and he had to look up and down a couple of times before he spotted Jin inside a door further down.

What did he want? His pulse throbbed steadily.

Outside the garden shone silver in the light of the full moon. Jin stood by a low wall, arms folded, watching him.

“Why am I here? What do you want?”

Jin tilted his head back.

“Of course I remembered you the moment you walked in. You fought like a tiger. It took everything I had.”

Hwoarang puffed his chest out. He didn’t need to be told he was good, true, but it didn’t hurt to hear it from Jin. And Jin had been like a beast himself. He was brutal, but utterly disciplined and he didn’t give an inch. Baek had told him there was no shame in drawing to someone like that, but Hwoarang hadn’t wanted to hear it.

He still wanted to beat Jin, though, see that proud rich boy brought down a peg or two. When the fight was over, Jin got into his grandfather’s car, accompanied by guards each side. Baek had taken Hwoarang home on the bus, where he’d pressed a wad of dressing to his forehead and ignored the horrified glances of passersby. He looked at Jin’s suit, which seemed almost to glow in the moonlight. Baek had lent him the uncomfortable shirt he was wearing. He bet Jin had never had to borrow anything in his life.

“I’d beat you now.”

Jin looked him up and down.

“Would you? I don’t doubt you’d try. I can see you’ve become stronger since then. I haven’t lost a match since –“

Jin stopped but it was too late, Hwoarang strode forward.

“You didn’t lose that one, remember? It was a draw. I wouldn’t care if you were just another guy I’d beat.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Jin said softly, unfolding his arms and leaning back on the wall. Hwoarang looked at him sharply.

“I saw the way you looked at me when you walked in.”

Hwoarang didn’t know how to react. Anger at Jin’s presumptuousness fought with his satisfaction – he had known how Jin had looked at him. He hadn’t been mistaken.

“You’re one to talk. Do you usually look at guys like that, in front of your grandfather?”

Jin’s mouth opened, then closed. He backed away slightly. Hwoarang couldn’t see his complexion too well in the dark but he bet Jin was blushing.

“When you came in – I. I didn’t want him to see me, that’s why I moved to the back of the room.”

“Seriously?” Hwoarang knew these old school Japanese families were uptight about this kind of thing – Baek had told him enough stories during training – but he’d sort of assumed Heihachi Mishima wouldn’t have cared. The old guy walked around in a pimp coat and wouldn’t even let Jin call himself Mishima. And there were so many rumours around this family…

“He wouldn’t say anything, but,” Jin stopped. Hwoarang thought he understood. Jin was the bastard grandson, taken in, and he probably didn’t want to do anything that would cause his grandfather to regret his decision. It was a feeling that never truly left someone, the feeling that you just didn’t belong and never would.

Hwoarang remembered his years at the orphanage before Baek took him in. He’d go through bouts of good behaviour, before each inevitable disappointment. Someone would taunt him, or steal from him, or try to trick him. Then he fought with the other kids, smashed up whatever he could get his hands on, before his anger burned out as fast as it had started.

When Baek took him, he’d been so scared that he would be sent back that his first six months were without complaint. He got up early, trained without talking back or crying about the pain, did everything that was asked of him.

That ended the day Baek spent a morning provoking him until he could take no more. Hwoarang had gone at Baek with fists and feet, and Baek had coolly parried him away until he was exhausted.

“I knew you had it in you,” was all Baek had said, and as Hwoarang lay drained on the dojo floor, the memory of every curse and insult he’d flung at Baek came shrieking back.

When he finally left, Baek was waiting outside, and Hwoarang couldn’t look at him.

“What was all that about?”

“Master, I’m sorry, I-“

“The past six months you’ve been a scared little ghost. Is this what you truly are? Am I seeing your true self?”

Hwoarang couldn’t make eye contact. He looked at his feet and nodded.

“Good. You see that motto we have in the dojo? What is it?”

“ _Indomitable Spirit_.”

“After all this time, I’m glad to find you still have an unbroken spirit – even if it manifests itself in vulgarity and crudeness. I’ll put that anger of yours to use.”

Hwoarang couldn’t believe it.

“However,” Baek warned, “you do _not_ speak to me like that outside the dojo, ever. Now shower and hurry up about it, lunch will be ready soon.”

“I understand, Master.”

Yes, Hwoarang got it. Baek would overlook any flashes of temper in the dojo as long as he was disciplined in his personal behaviour outside it and followed the tenets that he had been taught. The same understanding extended to other matters; Baek had never cared who he slept with, as long as he was sensible about it.

He’d never been so grateful for Baek in his life at that moment.

“I haven’t got much time,” Jin said, so softly he could barely hear him, “I just wanted.”

“Yeah,” Hwoarang replied, “I know.”

He closed the distance. In the dim light, Jin’s dark eyes in his pale face looked like a skull for a moment, and Hwoarang nearly stepped back.

But then Jin’s strong hands were pulling him closer, and his lips were soft and warm. Hwoarang pushed Jin back against the wall, and Jin pushed him right back.

Jin’s tongue slipped into his mouth and his thighs parted so Hwoarang’s thigh could slip between them. Despite his wariness around his grandfather, he’d obviously done this before. Jin’s hands slipped up into Hwoarang’s hair, combing through tenderly.

Hwoarang broke the kiss when he heard a scratch of boot on stone. Jin didn’t speak, but listened intently. He stared at Hwoarang.

“Tekken Force – they patrol here.”

“What do we do?”

“You go back – now. I have a reason to be here. They can’t do anything to me.”

Hwoarang was about to protest, but Baek’s warnings about the Mishimas’ power came back to him.

“Will you come back?”

“No. I’ll see you again. Go.”

Hwoarang turned and made his way back inside. He waited until he was sure there were no footsteps, and found the nearest bathroom. Thankfully, he brought a comb with him at all times, and soon looked presentable again.

He thought about going back to the party, but there didn’t seem to be much point. The tournament centre had his stuff, he could just go back to his tournament lodgings and await the morning’s postings.

His best jeans – Baek had insisted – felt uncomfortably tight. Damn. The idea of finding his room seemed better and better. Now which way was out? The dim lighting made finding the correct door difficult.

“There you are.”

Jin appeared from around a corner. Hwoarang watched him. It was all too weird. He slapped at his pocket for his cigarettes. Jin watched.

“Want one?”

“Please.”

Jin propped the cigarette in his mouth, and Hwoarang lit it. It didn’t really help, watching Jin’s lips fasten tight around the tip as he drew in, but it was good to look at. He took a shaky drag on his own cigarette, watching as Jin closed his eyes with pleasure.

“Didn’t take you for a smoker.”

The faint light of the cigarette showed Jin rolling his dark eyes.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know how you fight, and that tells you everything.”

Jin shook his head.

“No. You _knew_ how I fight.”

“Huh – what? You changed?”

“Yes.”

Hwoarang was shocked. Someone who fought at 15 like Jin, in a clear and crafted style no less, was building on years of training from a master. But to go and change it all, in four years?

“Why?”

Jin blew out a plume of smoke – a cheesy move that looked straight out of an old yakuza film.

“My grandfather took me in. He taught me his style – Mishima Style. It’s only taught to those in the family.”

Hwoarang knew a bit about Mishima Style. Aggressive, brutal, focused almost entirely on attack.

“What about your previous style – that was…”

Jin looked away.

“My mother’s style. I blended it with Mishima – I could never forget it. Her. I – “

He drew hard on his cigarette and looked uncomfortable.

“Hey, listen. I was only askin’. Just want to work out how much I’ll thrash you in the tournament.”

Jin licked his fingertips and extinguished his cigarette. In the dark, Hwoarang couldn’t quite see his face, but he guessed Jin was smiling.

“I look forward to it.”

He stepped back.

“I have to go now. My grandfather’s orders. I hope to see you again.”

Hwoarang twisted his own cigarette out.

“Yeah. I guess, wouldn’t want you to get in any more trouble.”

“ _Almost_ worth it,” Jin whispered, and then he slipped away, back down a corridor and was gone.

Almost?! Hwoarang was outraged, but he didn’t feel like spending any more time hanging around in case he ran into one of those Tekken Force guys. He had no doubts he could put them down, but he didn’t feel like risking his face or legs in a needless fight.

_Huh. Must really be getting old_ , he thought, as he strutted off in search of his room.


	2. Integrity

In fact, his first assignment wasn’t Jin. It was the Hong Kong Police detective called Lei he’d seen at the pre-tournament party.

A cop?! Hwoarang scorned as he saw the assignment, but a fight was a fight and he was still being beamed to over 160 countries in high definition (with instant playback!)

He only wished, when he saw Lei, that he knew some Cantonese to insult the guy with because he didn’t think he’d ever seen someone in greater need of shittalk in his life.

Lei’s uninspiring appearance, however, concealed some serious skills. Two rounds in, Hwoarang was fighting with everything he had. He could feel his headband lying damp on his forehead and every muscle and sinew ached. The bell went for the last break, and he dived for his water bottle.

He was considering whether he could get away with swilling the water around his mouth and spitting it out – this was no beauty contest. But Baek would be watching – in HD! - and Baek would be disappointed.

With a shudder, Hwoarang swallowed his lukewarm mouthful. A drop of rain glanced on his forehead and he looked up. The Zaibatsu skybox, proud and gaudy, swam into view, and Jin stood in the window, eyes locked on him.

They stared at each other. Jin didn’t move a muscle, Hwoarang took him in. He was so far removed from the scene, high in the sky and cool in a black silk shirt and pants that no doubt cost over a million yen apiece.

_You’re not better than me, Kazama, just because you’re from the right family. I’d love to see you down here in the pit with me, sweaty and giving me everything you had. I’d pay you back with interest_.

He was jolted out of his fantasy by the bell going. Funny, his limbs felt looser and he had a bounce in his step again. The third round was over before he knew it, and Lei was shaking his hand. Dazed from his victory and reeling with pride, he glanced up to see Jin again. Jin had both hands on the skybox’s window frame, and looked down on him with something indecipherable in his eyes.

Hwoarang tore his eyes away. _Better call Baek_.

Baek had been proud, but stern too. He’d criticised Hwoarang for being “a showoff” and “sloppy” in the first round and “wasteful” in the second, but after giving an earful, he’d paused to congratulate Hwoarang.

“That was the guy that knocked me out last time.”

“Really?” Hwoarang said, shocked. “You never said anything about Lei Wulong that I heard.”

“He wasn’t the deadliest opponent I ever faced, no, but I was carrying an injury and he took me down easily. I was ashamed of how I fought that day, so I preferred not to mention it.”

“I wish you had – I would have liked to see the tape!”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t want you knowing,” Baek said with his dry laugh.

Hwoarang smiled into the phone, suddenly feeling sore all over. It was good to hear Baek’s laugh again, and to know that he was proud of him.

They spoke more for a short time. Hwoarang had three days til his next match, and two until he found out who he was fighting, so he had plenty of time to relax and recover.

“Make sure you get your rest and don’t stay out late drinking,” Baek warned.

“I understand, Master.”

“Hwoarang, that’s not a yes!”

“I’ll do my best to make you proud.”

Baek sighed. “You do that. Sleep well. You’ve earned it.”

Hwoarang replaced the phone in its cradle and leaned his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes, letting the day’s events wash over him, and it was then he heard the knock at the door.

It was only nine, but he hadn’t ordered anything. He opened the door and saw Jin Kazama outside.

“You don’t leave the chain on the door.”

Hwoarang snorted. “I’ve always been able to handle myself. What do you want?”

“Come for a drink with me?”

“Kazama, I-“

“Not late. You must be tired.”

Jin stood back in the doorway, letting the light hit him more fully. He was still wearing the black silk millionaire outfit from before. Had the shirt had that many buttons undone before?

Suddenly Hwoarang found he wasn’t as tired as he’d thought.

“One. And you’d better know somewhere good to eat.”

“Done,” Jin said with his slight smile.

“Wait here, I’m going to clean up.”

In the tiny bathroom Hwoarang looked at himself. He had that small cut on his cheekbone where Lei’s foot had caught him but otherwise looked okay. Definitely still pretty. He ran his hands quickly through his clean hair and pulled on his best jeans and a black tank top. Done. He didn’t come prepared for nights out with rich boys – and he doubted Jin cared about his clothes.

Jin was leaning against the door and stood up straight.

“Got everything you need?”

“Yeah. Hey – how are we getting there?”

“I have a driver,” Jin said simply, opening the door and slipping out first so Hwoarang could lock up.

Hwoarang, with his back turned, rolled his eyes. But he had to admit having a driver had its advantages when it came to drinking til you puked.

Not that he was planning on doing that tonight. Baek hadn’t wanted him to go out, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and it wasn’t as if he had a match tomorrow. A few hours wouldn’t kill him. He turned around.

“ _One_.”

“I understand,” Jin said, with the slow smile again.

“Good. I’m not letting you sabotage me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Wouldn’t need to.”

Hwoarang turned to give Jin a sharp look, but Jin was holding the car door for him, waving the driver away.

“Come on.”

The tournament cars were plenty fancy, but the Zaibatsu car with its buttery soft leather, heated seats and stereo system was something else. There was plenty of room for them to sprawl out if they wished but Hwoarang was preoccupied in checking everything out. After about five minutes he realised Jin hadn’t said a word and looked over. Jin was sitting, head tilted slightly back, looking at him with that smile.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“You know this isn’t normal, right? Most people never see this in their lives.”

“I know.”

Of course. Jin hadn’t been born to this, any more than he had. It was relatively new to him too – but Jin looked comfortable. Jin looked _right_.

Jin turned and looked out the window. “We’re here.”

A huge bowl of soy ramen and a beer later, Hwoarang felt warm and comfortable and the ache in his limbs was starting to fade. Jin was talking about accidentally ruining his grandfather’s precious bonsai and blaming it on his pet bear.

“Wait – he has a bear? A real bear?”

Jin nodded. “It’s his training partner.”

Hwoarang shook his head. _This fucking family_.

Jin nodded to his beer. “Another one?”

Hwoarang smiled. “Deal.”

Jin raised his arm to signal to the waiter, and the the lights hit his shirt just so and Hwoarang could swear he could see the outline of a major bruise – or was it a tattoo? He frowned, squinting. Did he really just see that?

The waiter brought their beers over and Jin lowered his arm. Now he was sure.

“Jin, do you have a tattoo?”

Jin caught his eye, and the smile fell right off.

“Yes.”

“Wait, what? You’re the last guy in the world I’d expect to get inked. And in Japan, I – “

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jin said firmly.

Hwoarang sat, but it was all he could think about. Was it a bet? A youthful misjudgement? Some sort of weird family tradition? No doubt Jin caught hell off his grandfather for it, but even so – shouldn’t it be over by now?

Besides, if Jin still fought shirtless, what did he think was going to happen? Did he think Hwoarang and the rest of the world wouldn’t see it?

Jin had fallen mute, unhappily drinking his beer. Well, this evening had turned out to be a waste.

Hwoarang took one last pull of his beer and set it firmly on the table. He stood up and pulled out a few bills. Japanese money confused him; he hoped it was enough.

“Ramen’s great, but I gotta split. I’ll see you.”

He dropped the bills on the table. Jin looked up, stricken.

“Wait.”

“We said _one_ , remember?”

“Please.”

“I’m gone.”

Hwoarang swung his legs over the seat and swept out the door without looking back. Outside, the rain was coming down in thick sheets and for a moment he considered turning around and going back. Nah. Jin shouldn’t have got weird on him like that. He’d have to hope he could get a taxi.

But every taxi that passed had its lights off and Hwoarang stopped walking. He had no idea where he was, or how to get back to the compound. Damn Jin!

_Damn my pride_.

He pushed his sopping hair back off his forehead and turned to see the street he’d walked down. A strong arm reached out and grabbed him. Hwoarang pulled back instinctively before he saw the car idling on the curb nearby.

“I looked everywhere for you,” Jin said.

Hwoarang stared at him. Then he turned on his heel and stalked away down a nearby alley. Neon from the adjacent street lit the alley with a gloomy glow. Hwoarang heard splashing behind him. He whirled, on the defensive already.

Jin.

“Hwoarang,” Jin said insistently. “Come on. You need to get back. You can’t stay out in this.”

Hwoarang shook Jin’s arm off.

“I don’t need your shit, Jin. Why can’t you ever be straight with me? Besides, I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself!”

Jin moved back. The rain was flattening his dark hair but he didn’t notice or care.

“I know how I acted but…it’s hard to talk about. I don’t want to involve anyone else.”

“See, this is exactly the shit I mean! Wander in and out whenever you like, never give anything you’re not prepared to give!”

Hwoarang realised he was shouting; his voice seemed to echo against the wet walls. Rain trickled down his scalp and down the sides of his face. He probably looked like he was crying. He should have been chilled to the bone but his anger drove his blood hot inside him. Opposite him, Jin stood in his soaked, flimsy shirt and looked at him. As Hwoarang looked back, he saw Jin’s pale fingers brush where he had seen the tattoo.

“I’m not trying to shut you out. I don’t want you involved.”

“You said that already. Involve me in what? How can I know what you’re talking about if you never tell me?!”

Jin moved closer. His dark hair hung sopping down the back of his head now. It was almost as long as Hwoarang’s.

“Hwoarang,” Jin said seriously. “Did Baek tell you anything about my family?”

Hwoarang nodded.

“Some things – but time and time again, he told me to stay away from the Mishimas. That the family was more trouble than it was ever worth. Too much power.”

Jin ran a hand through his hair, combing out some of the water.

“Do you trust Baek?”

_What a stupid question_. “With my life.”

“I don’t think Baek knew…but he _understood_ , I think. If you don’t take my word, please take his.”

“Fine, I’ll leave your stupid tattoo alone. Now leave _me_ alone.”

Jin stayed exactly where he was, eyes fixed on Hwoarang.

“Go. _Go_!”

Hwoarang felt the rain get close to his skin for the first time, and realised he was shivering. This was the real cold he remembered from his childhood on the streets in Seoul. The real cold that cut down to the bone and felt like you’d never get warm again.

“Why are you here?”

“I think you know why. I’m here for you,” Jin said, and with one long stride he closed the gap between them.

Jin’s mouth was hot and his skin was cold. He pushed Hwoarang back hard against the cold brick with water streaming down their bodies. Hwoarang pressed back and snaked his hand between Jin’s legs. Jin gasped into his mouth and pulled away. In the dim light of the alley, his dark eyes were almost unreadable, but Hwoarang had felt the hunger in his kisses. His mouth burned, the cold forgotten.

“Come on.”

This time, Hwoarang followed.

They slid into the open backseat of the waiting car without a comment or glance from the driver. Hwoarang was grateful. No cab in Seoul would have taken him in this state and he couldn’t imagine Tokyo was any different.

Across from him, Jin was intently watching, but he was shivering in his thin silk shirt. Without thinking too much about it, Hwoarang moved beside him and nudged his shoulder.

“Come on.”

Jin’s dark eyes stayed fastened on his as he slung an equally damp arm around him. They leaned back into the warm seats. Hwoarang was conscious of Jin’s eyes on him, but he was also starting to get a bit drowsy from the warmth of the seats and Jin’s body and the exertions of the day. The car’s neon clock said it was 02.01. Fuck, he’d never meant to stay out that late.

“We’re here.”

Hwoarang sat up sharply, feeling worse than when he’d got into the car.

“Oh – thanks.”

“No problem,” Jin said, moving away to open the door for him.

_Was that it_?

Hwoarang looked at him. As though reading his thoughts, Jin said, “I need to be back soon or he’ll look for me. I have a match in the afternoon.”

The reality of the tournament came crashing back. Hwoarang’s own match seemed a long time ago.

“Who are you fighting?”

“Some American that looks like the guy from Blade Runner.”

“Uh, cool. Hope you beat him.”

Jin swept a hand back through his now damp hair.

“I will.” He paused. “Come watch me.”

“As if I’d miss the chance to brush up on the competition!”

Jin swung his long legs back onto the seat and the driver came around to shut the door. He rolled down the window.

Hwoarang watched him go, then took the stairs two at a time to his room. He stripped off his clothes, shivering as the cool air hit his skin, and dived into the shower. His muscles were aching a bit. If Baek was there he’d have lost it at the idea of Hwoarang running around in the rain and getting soaked to the skin after a match. Baek would have forced him into a bath with plenty of camphor salts, and Baek wouldn’t have let him within fifty feet of Jin Kazama.

He let his thoughts wander back towards Jin. Jin felt like trouble, but he also felt like something genuine and solid. Beneath the money and confidence and clothes, he had a dark streak and a flash of temper. It intrigued him beyond belief. Beyond that, he couldn’t wait to see him fight tomorrow. It was his first fight in the tournament and as one of the favourites, Jin would have wall-to-wall coverage.

Hwoarang fell asleep thinking about Jin’s body pushing him tight against wet brick.


	3. Perseverance

When he awoke, he was stiff all over, and he groaned. Another round in the shower and he was tying back his wet hair and checking the tournament schedule. Jin’s fight was nearby, in the Mishima dojo, and space was limited, so he’d have to skip breakfast if he wanted a good view.

A clean dobok would do – he needed to train afterwards anyway and unlike his other clothes it saved time to put on. Hwoarang made it to the dojo and snagged one of the benches that had been placed as close as possible. The front benches were already full with press, all jostling for position.

 _Don’t remember these guys being so keen to see_ me.

The portable floodlights that had been brought in for the tv cameras were switched on, flooding the dojo’s floor with light. An announcer called the names of the two fighters, and Jin stepped forward into the light. He was wearing gloves, gi pants and foot guards, but Hwoarang’s eyes went straight to the large tattoo on his arm.

The press fell into a frenzy of clicks and flashes as Jin walked to his place before him. They went silent as his opponent emerged – an American named Bryan Fury. Hwoarang had never heard of him. He had grey hair and an ugly scar across his eye, but Hwoarang only noticed the mad gleam in his eye as he looked at Jin.

The bell rang and they wasted no time. Jin’s punches were brutal, and every thud was audible. Hwoarang watched as Jin landed punishing blow after blow – only for Bryan to laugh in his face.

Bryan, meanwhile, was no walkover. Jin was growing clearly frustrated, and every time he paused for breath Bryan slid in a kick or a hooked punch and by the time the bell went, Jin was panting. The round went in his favour, but not by much.

Hwoarang looked at Jin, who was listening closely to his grandfather. Heihachi had moved in for a pep talk and was now jabbing a finger at Jin, who said nothing.

As the thirty second warning rang, Heihachi slapped Jin on his broad back and left. Jin swept his hair off his face, and glanced around. His eyes met Hwoarang’s. Jin’s expression was determined; his dark eyes were cold and Hwoarang guessed he would redouble his efforts this round.

He was right.

Seconds after the bell went Jin and Bryan came at each other with a flurry of punches and kicks that was hard to follow. It was piecemeal stuff and this time Jin was blocking Bryan’s punches with his arms and sidestepping Bryan’s increasingly desperate lunges.

Hwoarang watched closely; he could see Jin getting ready for something. Sure enough, when Bryan tried his luck again, Jin stepped back into the space he had vacated and lifted Bryan clear off the ground with a soaring punch. The air seemed to crackle with energy; the crowd gasped and fell silent as Bryan fell the short distance to the dojo’s floor and stayed there.

The crowd roared as the round and match were declared for Jin. Jin tossed his head back in a cocky fashion. He turned and caught Hwoarang’s eye again and this time his expression was triumphant.

 _Looks like I’ll have my work cut out for me_ , Hwoarang thought. He watched Jin exit the dojo followed by his grandfather and a forest of microphones, and stayed in place until only he and the electrician dismantling the lighting setup were left.

But Jin didn’t return. There was only so much hanging around he was prepared to do, and Hwoarang brushed aside the disappointment and went to take his feelings out on some training dummies.

He wasn’t the only one there. The American, Paul Phoenix, was smashing his way through one of the prepared circuits to a cheering group of onlookers. Hwoarang rolled his eyes, and turned his back to finish his own work, but by the time he was done, Paul was still going. He watched him finish. Paul’s huge fists were making short work of every dummy and he didn’t seem to run out of energy, despite being much older. Hwoarang had to hand it to the old guy; he’d be a tough opponent.

Paul finally finished and whooped, throwing his huge arms up in the air. Hwoarang rolled his eyes, what a moron. Paul didn’t notice though; he turned and saw Hwoarang and greeted him with a big smile on his face.

“Good work, huh? That bear won’t know what hit him!”

“Wait, you’re fighting a bear?”

“Sure am – Heihachi Mishima’s personal training partner, no less!”

“Shit,” Hwoarang said, thinking how lucky he’d been. He didn’t really want to try his luck against a bear, and anyway he didn’t want to think about how a defeated and humiliated bear would react. He could just picture it, rampaging and tearing up shit until someone put a tranquiliser in it. Nah, Paul could have the bear, he just wanted Jin.

“Who are you fighting, kid? Saw you beat Lei – you’d be a good match, I can tell.”

“Thanks. I’m not sure – they haven’t told me yet. Find out tomorrow.”

“Well, I gotta fly, but good luck, kid – my match is tomorrow if you want to come watch. Later!”

Paul thundered out of the gym, leaving Hwoarang torn between how irritating he found him but also hoping Paulreally would beat that bear – so he didn’t have to.

It was time to head back to his place – he needed to shower and get out of this dobok so it could go in the laundry. One advantage of the tournament – 24 hour laundry service for competitors. He almost wished he’d brought some of his more expensive items with him.

Jin was waiting outside.

“Hey.”

“There you are. Congratulations on a good match – you didn’t stick around afterwards.”

Jin had changed into a simple white shirt and black trousers.

“Needed to pay my respects and clean up. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Hwoarang looked at him. The look in Jin’s eyes was unashamedly hungry. He knew how it was. After a fight, your blood was up and you wanted another fight – or a fuck. One of Baek’s training buddies from Busan put it more crudely: “You just need to be pounding something.”

And he knew what Jin had come for.

It took him three attempts to open the door. As soon as he did, Jin shoved past him and pushed him back against the door.

Hwoarang slid the lock on the door into place and pushed Jin right back. Jin was already undoing the top half of his dobok and Hwoarang shrugged it off, letting it drop to the floor. Jin was pressing kisses to his neck as he fumbled to undo Jin’s belt.

“Your skin tastes salty.”

“Training. I was coming home to shower.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Jin murmured against his neck as Hwoarang finally pulled the belt out of its loops and flung it somewhere behind him.

Jin finally took his hands off Hwoarang to undo and step out of his trousers and yank down his underwear. Hwoarang eyed him; he knew exactly what he wanted.

“Here. Sit.”

Jin did as he was told and sat on the bed, rubbing his hand up and down his cock. Hwoarang straddled him but didn’t sink down; Jin brought his fingers to his mouth.

“I was thinking about this the other day – those legs with their kicks, I bet you’d ride me like a demon.”

“Best ride of your life, Kazama,” Hwoarang agreed, kneeling to take his mouth in a kiss again. This time, he tasted the salt on Jin’s tongue from his own skin. He felt Jin’s fingers, warm and wet, slip into him and he gasped into Jin’s mouth.

Jin broke the kiss.

“Hope you’re ready for this.”

“I can take anything you have for me and more.”

“Good,” Jin said, dark eyes fastened on Hwoarang’s, as his fingers moved inside Hwoarang. He brushed gently just so and Hwoarang’s body shuddered.

They kissed again, with more urgency. Hwoarang stroked himself and he was achingly hard. It wouldn’t take much for him, he thought. He’d wanted this for so long. Wanted Jin for so long.

Jin pulled his fingers free and brushed a kiss against his neck.

“We good to go?”

“Go.”

Jin eased his cock inside him and Hwoarang lowered down to meet it. Jin’s cock brushed his prostate and Hwoarang’s breath nearly stopped. But he was damned if he’d blow his wad like some kid on his first time. This was Jin.

“Hey, Jin,” Hwoarang said, as he began moving himself on Jin’s cock.

Jin looked up at him directly, eyes a little faraway. His free hand had slipped to Hwoarang’s cock and he was now idly stroking the tip with little flicks of his thumb.

“What?”

“Loser comes first.”

Jin rolled his dark eyes, but he picked up the pace of both his thrusts and his strokes.

“Trust you to make this into a competition.”

“Don’t think you can beat me?” Hwoarang said, and squeezed. Jin’s eyes rolled back a bit.

“Bastard. _Fine_.”

Jin leaned up to kiss him again, and this time his kisses were bolder, tongue flickering in Hwoarang’s mouth, and then he broke the kiss to lay his tongue to Hwoarang’s nipple.

“Fuck,” Hwoarang gritted his teeth. It wasn’t fair. Jin had his cock inside him and was stroking him off and now he was sucking his nipples. If he didn’t watch himself –

He squeezed as hard as he could manage, and Jin moaned beneath him. Judging by the increasing speed of his thrusts, he wasn’t far off. He leaned in close to Jin’s face, took his full lower lip between his teeth, and bit.

Perhaps it was that he had fought earlier and his stamina was shot, or it was the bite awakening some darker taste, but Jin’s eyes rolled back and he gasped as he came.

It was all Hwoarang needed. Jin’s fingers moved on him and he cried out as he came, staring deep into Jin’s eyes. Jin was gone, but his eyes were as dark and alert as ever, and they helped to push Hwoarang over the edge. He collapsed, sweaty and spent, on Jin’s shoulder.

Jin waited a few minutes and slowly drew out of him. He wiped the sweat on his face on his shirt, unthinkingly, and sighed when he realised what he’d done.

“It’s fine,” said Hwoarang once he noticed, “there’s 24-hour laundry service. “Give it to me, I’ll put the bag out right now and call them.”

“How long does it take?”

“Usually about four hours – got anywhere to be?”

“Not particularly. Good – because that wasn’t a fair contest and this time you _will_ lose.”


	4. Self control

The next morning, Hwoarang woke with the sun on his face. He peered sleepily at the clock, and then noticed Jin solidly asleep beside him.

“Jin.”

Jin peered at him, and sat up. He groaned.

“I’m not sure if this was the fight or you last night.”

“Oh, definitely me,” Hwoarang grinned. Jin smiled back.

“My next match is tomorrow, I should get back and see who I’ve drawn. My grandfather might turn a blind eye to last night, but he won’t for much longer. I should go.”

Hwoarang pushed his hair off his face.

“What if we draw each other?”

“What if we do? Didn’t you enter the tournament to fight me again?”

“Just asking – I don’t want you going easy on me. I want to beat you fair and square.”

“I’d never hold back on you,” Jin said, pulling his shirt on and doing up the buttons.

“You didn’t last night. Not even going to shower?”

“I will at home – don’t think I could take another shower with you at the moment.”

“Chicken,” Hwoarang yawned. He turned over.

“Don’t sleep too long,” Jin said softly. He finished dressing and let himself out. The door clicked back on the latch behind him, and he stepped outside. Hwoarang heard him go as he drifted off. It was high time Jin showed his face at the Mishima Dojo, probably. Not his problem though.

Hwoarang woke up two hours later. This time, when he sat up, he felt stiff and sore all over, but he smiled thinking of the previous night.

A quick shower and a freshly laundered dobok later, he felt more human, and decided to check out the listings on his way to breakfast. They usually put them up later but he was feeling lucky.

Sure enough, as he approached the information centre, he saw other fighters gathered there. They were muttering and looking worried. Hwoarang’s smile dropped off his face.

 _Someone got a shit draw. Hope it wasn’t me_.

He pushed his way through and scanned the board. His listing jumped straight out at him – Hwoarang vs Paul Phoenix. Not great but he’d live. What was the listing everyone was muttering about, though?

It leapt out at him like the words were on fire.

Jin Kazama vs ???

???

What the fuck was going on? Now he understood the other fighters’ expressions.

“This is just like Heihachi Mishima,” Anna Williams was saying to her sister Nina, who scoffed.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Anna.”

Hwoarang spared them no more than a sideglance – what the _fuck_ was going on there? – but he had bigger fish to fry. He decided to make his way to the Mishima Dojo instead, and see what Jin made of it all.

Breakfast could wait.

Jin, the huge Tekken Force guy at the door told him, was indisposed.

“Bullshit,” Hwoarang snarled, “I want to see him.”

The Tekken Force guy stepped forward.

“Get this into your thick skull before I take a boot to it. Jin – Kazama – is – not – here.”

“Well where is he then?”

The Tekken Force guard shrugged.

“No idea, the Mishima helicopter left for his next match a few hours ago.”

Fuck, Hwoarang thought, he must have got the listing and his marching orders right away. He hoped Jin was ok. Whoever he was fighting had a hell of a fight on his or her hands. But it was Jin, and as far as Hwoarang was concerned, Jin could beat whoever he pleased.

As long as it wasn’t him.

There was nothing he could do at that precise moment. He needed to eat, train and call Baek, in that order. He had a fight against Paul Phoenix to prepare for, after all.

Breakfast was rapidly turning into lunch, and he grabbed some soup and ribs, ignoring the looks of surprise from the Western fighters. _Rather this than that shit you guys eat_. He sat at a table by himself and dug in.

Besides Jin, he hadn’t mixed much with his fellow competitors. At this stage in the tournament, there weren’t many left.

To his right sat Julia Chang, an American girl who packed a hard punch. That was basically all Hwoarang really knew about her; he’d only had time to think of two people in this tournament. Even his opponents had faded in the rearview mirror after he’d beaten them.

Julia was young, about his age, and she was chatting away to yet another young American. Hwoarang had seen the kid around with Paul Phoenix. He didn’t know his name but something about him seemed familiar. Hwoarang was sure he’d seen him somewhere before, he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

At first he tried tuning out their inane chat, but soon a hush fell over their table and he cast a glance their way.

“…they’ve had some unusual contenders. There was a rumour that they had a dinosaur this year but it got knocked out earlier, did you hear that?”

“What? No way,” the young man exclaimed.

“Forrest, keep it down,” Julia said with a smile.

“It’s not so surprising though – the Mishima Zaibatsu was doing all those illegal animal experiments last time, right? My mom said the Zaibatsu tried entering a dinosaur last time too, but they pulled it last minute – either that or it got knocked out in the first round.”

“This is too wild – hey, your mom ever meet my dad?”

Julia shook her head.

“I don’t think so. She didn’t stick around for very long. She only entered because Kazuya kidnapped my grandmother.”

Forrest fell silent, and his spoon clinked against his bowl.

“The Mishimas are something else.”

“Yeah. At least Kazuya’s dead. There were so many weird rumours about that guy.”

“Like what?”

Julia glanced around. Hwoarang pretended to be engrossed in the tablecloth patterns. Little tigers cavorted with cranes while a volcano erupted in the background. _Weird_.

“There was something unnatural about him. That’s what my grandmother thought, and my mom said there were all sorts of strange rumours at the tournament too. You know the strangest one?”

“No?”

“Everyone thought Heihachi killed Kazuya. And because of who Kazuya was and the other rumours, nobody reported it. That’s the big one.”

Hwoarang sat up straight in his seat. He stared at the tablecloth again, willing his ears to catch the rest.

“That’s messed up. All I know is what my dad told me, and he only entered to win money.”

Julia laughed.

“Didn’t some guy trash your dojo back home?”

“Yeah! Dad didn’t get to fight him though.”

“There’s too much happening to keep track of. I tell you the truth, though,” and here Julia’s voice dropped even more, “I can’t stop thinking about that Jin Kazama match against the mystery opponent.”

“Yeah, creeps me out too. No name, no date, no location...”

“I really hope Jin wins – I don’t want to fight him but I don’t want to fight whoever – whatever- that is even more.”

“Guess all we can do is wait,” Forrest said, setting his spoon down with a thunk.

“There’s a match on soon – that space ninja guy and the Chinese girl. I’m going to go watch, then I’m going to call mom.”

“I’ll join you,” Forrest smiled, pushing his chair back and sparing Hwoarang not so much as a sideways glance.

Hwoarang sat frozen in place after they’d gone. There was so much to take in. But all he could think about was Julia mentioning the rumour about Heihachi, and Jin being taken away to who-knows-where to fight an unknown opponent.

It was unlikely, he knew, but Jin’s whole mystery act wasn’t sitting well with him and his instincts were telling him this was bad, bad, bad. He wiped his mouth roughly with a fine linen napkin, and flung it to the tablecloth without another look, failing to see the tigers and cranes all stained in red.

Back in his room, the cleanup crew had been and gone. The bed had been stripped and redressed and Hwoarang wished they hadn’t been so quick. It was as if the night before had never happened. He’d left a room that smelled of Jin and sex and him, and now it smelled faintly of lavender and other bland, clean scents.

He flung himself on the pristine bed and reached for the phone to call Korea.

“Hwoarang?”

Baek’s deep voice came on the line and Hwoarang felt relief wash over him – Baek always made him feel calmer, safer.

“Master.”

“How are you, Hwoarang? Are you preparing for your next match?”

“I’m going to go practice after I speak to you. Have you been watching the rest of the tournament?”

“Where I can. You have a formidable opponent. Phoenix is loud and unsubtle, but he packs a punch that will have you down in seconds.”

“I’ve seen him training. I’m not taking him lightly.”

“He has experience on his side, but you have energy and the unknown factor.”

“Hey!”

Baek laughed quietly, as if to himself.

“Paul Phoenix has been a famous competitor longer than you’ve been alive. Don’t get worked up over this.”

“Did you ever fight him?”

“No. I saw him in the last tournament, though. He got knocked out by Kazuya Mishima. He was furious for days after it happened.”

“I can see that, guy seems hotheaded.”

Baek laughed again, then took a serious tone.

“Be that as it may, he won’t be an easy fight. Prepare, practice, and focus. You’ve done well so far, but this will be something else. No distractions.”

“Yes, Master.” Hwoarang was about to say his goodbyes, but then it struck him.

“Jin Kazama’s most recent match – was that shown on tv? Did you see it?”

“What? No,” Baek replied, “but he’s not my concern. I’ll watch him if you are fighting him.”

Hwoarang only realised he’d groaned when Baek said sharply, “ _No_ distractions. I mean it. Worry about yourself, and I’ll worry about you.”

Time to go. “I hear you. I’m going to get some training in, and a good night’s sleep.”

“Good,” Baek said, sounding relieved.

Hwoarang didn’t hang around. He went straight to the gym. It was empty, the first time he’d been there. He crashed through a perfunctory round, but his heart wasn’t really in it. Better to save some of his energy for the next day, when he actually needed it, he supposed.

He thought about how he’d seen Paul. He was confident he was at least quicker and could dodge and dive his way out of trouble, before sweeping in to crush with kicks and swipes.

After his shower, though, he was still restless. He thought about going out on his bike, but couldn’t muster up the energy it would take.

Julia’s words still haunted him, as did the mysterious listing.  What could it mean? After staring at the same patch of wall for ten minutes, Hwoarang decided to follow his instincts. Maybe the result would be in, and he could find out what the fuck was going on.

Maybe Jin would be back.

“I don’t fucking believe it!”

There it was in black and white. Jin Kazama had beaten ??? and gone through to the next round.

The relief Hwoarang felt was almost instantly superceded by worry and anger.

Where was Jin now? Why hadn’t he come back? Why hadn’t he explained what was going on?

He pushed his way through other fighters, drawn by his shout, and thought.

If Jin’s match was over, Jin would be back. Maybe he was injured and receiving treatment, or maybe his grandfather would be giving him shit for not winning quickly enough. Whatever. Jin had won, and that answered one of his worries. The Mishima residence was near; he could get the rest of the answers from Jin himself.

***

“No visitors,” the Tekken Force guy said, blocking his way.

“Hey, I’m not a _visitor_. I’m a friend of Jin’s – and I’m in the tournament too! He’ll want to see me.”

“Your name’s not on the approved list. You’re not coming in unless someone from the family approves you.”

Hwoarang stepped back and eyed the guy. There was only this guy and five more like him between the house and the gate. If he needed to run and fight them off, he could, but on the other hand the guy had a huge gun. He didn’t know how keen he’d be to use it.

There was always one other thing he could do. Hwoarang stepped as near to the Tekken Force soldier as he dared, cupped his hands and yelled “JIN! HEY, JIN!”

“Get back!” the soldier growled, shoving him with the butt of his gun. The nearest soldier looked over and began making his way across to them. Hwoarang’s heart sank. He looked again at the house but there was still no sign of Jin.

“What’s going on here?”

The Tekken Force soldier immediately snapped to attention and saluted, and Hwoarang instinctively stepped back. Heihachi Mishima emerged from the other side of the gate and stood with his arms crossed. Although he was old – in at least his seventies, Hwoarang thought – his arms were still thick with muscle and his dark eyes were fierce. His intimidating appearance was offset slightly by a tigerskin coat and straight white-legged pants.

“This man says that he’s here to see Mr Kazama, sir.”

Heihachi looked at Hwoarang, straight up and down. His mouth twisted with contempt.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Hwoarang, I’m in the tournament.”

“And you’re here to see Jin?”

“Yes – sir.”

Heihachi’s mouth twisted further.

“I know that’s a lie, because I know who you are. Jin has spoken of you, and he doesn’t want to see you.”

“What?! No, that’s not true! Jin and I – “

“I don’t care what you think,” Heihachi cut him off, “but whatever reason you think Jin would want to see you doesn’t exist. Get out of my sight, _now_.”

Hwoarang pushed forward. The Tekken Force soldier stepped forward and gave him a sharp swipe with the butt of his rifle. Hwoarang fell, preventing a face-first landing with his hands. Heihachi stood over him, and laughed his booming laugh.

“Consider that a warning. Next time they won’t be so gentle. Do you really want to go home to your Master and explain how you got thrown out of the tournament?”

Hwoarang lay where he was, glaring holes in Heihachi’s face. Heihachi sneered one last time, before turning his back on him.

“Get out of my sight before I deal with you myself.”

This time, Hwoarang got up. Everything hurt. The Tekken Force soldier stood over him.

“Go on.”

Hwoarang looked at the Mishima house one last time. Nothing appeared to have changed. If Jin wanted to see him, he was doing a poor job of showing it.

 _Fuck you, Heihachi_ , Hwoarang thought as he stalked off. He’d deal with Jin later, but he didn’t feel like getting into it with Heihachi now. The old bastard had known exactly where to hit where it hurt. If he was kicked out of the tournament, Baek would never forgive him. The longer he was in, the more chance he stood of unravelling this whole thing.

He awoke the next morning. He still hurt but not too much and after his shoulder he was feeling loose and ready for action. His warm-up exercises helped. After a quick breakfast and a call to Baek, he was ready.

On his way to the arena he passed the tournament listings. His match was the only one on today.

He tried not thinking about it, but the thought flared up anyway.

 _That means Jin will be there_.

First things first, he’d win. Then he’d talk to Jin.

The arena was full of American fans. There were kids wearing foam Paul hair and old women waving American flags everywhere. The Koreans were never so obnoxious, not that there were many of them there in the first place. It didn’t matter, he told himself. He only fought for two people; himself and Baek.

Paul was talking to Forrest in his corner and making little air punches as Forrest nodded. Idiot. Hwoarang took a drink of cold water and gave his limbs a final stretch as Paul approached.

The one minute bell went, and Hwoarang glanced up to the skybox. Heihachi Mishima stood over them, high above, with his arms folded. Beside him was his bear. But Jin wasn’t there.

Huh?

Hwoarang put the thought from his mind. The referee was counting them in and they were off. He didn’t have time to fall into stance. Paul came straight for him, and Hwoarang dodged. Paul’s huge fist had such speed that he heard the air whistle.

 _Tougher than I expected, I didn’t realise he’d be so fast_.

He dodged a kick from Paul, and swivelled back to catch him with a swift heel to the back. Paul howled but he didn’t fall. He came back swinging and once again Hwoarang was forced to fall back.

 _Fuck_.

This time, he was too slow to get fully out of Paul’s way. Paul caught him on the left side of his chest with a punch and Hwoarang gasped. Out of breath and out of sync, he moved backwards but Paul was advancing on him once again when the bell went.

It was no surprise when they called the round for Paul. Hwoarang drew in a deep breath and tried to regain his equilibrium. Everything felt off. He could only imagine Baek’s face as he watched at home, torn between anger and disappointment. His breathing felt shallow and his chest hurt, and as he watched the replays on the screen, he barely recognised himself.

Hwoarang couldn’t resist another glance at the skybox. Still no Jin, but Heihachi Mishima was looking directly at him. When he saw Hwoarang look at him, he laughed.

 _That fucker_.

The one minute bell went again, and Hwoarang dragged himself back up. This was his last chance. Baek would have told him to focus on getting the win, preserve his energy and to rein in his wasteful moves and conserve where he could. Baek preached self control and austerity, but Hwoarang had never been like that.

He thought of how he must look to Baek now. The fight wasn’t over yet, but watching Paul bounce across from him, larger than life and twice as loud, his heart sank.

It wasn’t over yet, though, and somehow he had to try. He summoned up every bit of strength he had and fell into stance as the referee’s hand dropped between them. _Bring it on_.

Every bit of awareness he had shrank to the two of them in the ring, him and Paul. Hwoarang focused, like a hawk spotting a fieldmouse far below, and struck. He heard his foot connect before he saw it, and the crowd cheered. In front of him, Paul grunted and huffed, backing away. He pulled himself upright and came at Hwoarang again. Hwoarang slid to the side and Paul’s punch caught the arena fence with a ring that set Hwoarang’s teeth on edge.

Paul was tiring, though, and that gave Hwoarang hope. He caught Paul again with a low kick that swept his legs from under him. He fell to the ground with a muffled thud, and Hwoarang danced in position, feeling his muscles loose and ready. _Time to finish this and take the round_.

Just as he moved in, though, a boisterous laugh floated in the air above his head. Hwoarang looked up and caught the eye of Heihachi Mishima. Heihachi was staring at him, undeniably, and laughing.

I’ll deal with you later, fucker, Hwoarang thought, and then all further thoughts were swpt from him as Paul closed the gap and dealt a punch that sent him flying back towards the fence. Hwoarang lay there, dazed, as Paul and the referee stood above him. Nothing felt broken but stars swam before his eyes and his vision wavered and blurred.

 _Come on, come_ on! he urged his body, but the pain overtook him and as he slipped into unconsciousness, all he heard was Heihachi Mishima laughing again. _Ha ha ha ha ha_!

When he awoke, he was in the medical centre and there was no pain. He supposed he must be on painkillers. The chair beside him was empty, and the memory of the fight returned. He lost, he realised.

A nurse appeared. She saw him struggling to sit up, and motioned him to lie down.

“I have a message for you.”

Hwoarang’s heart leapt.

“Mr Baek Doo San wants you to call him as soon as you are ready. Would you like me to bring you a phone?”

Of course. The thought of speaking to Baek was worse than anything, hearing the disappointment in his voice. Baek had been right, he could have won the match.

“Yeah, bring me the phone please.”

Waiting wasn’t going to make this feel any better. Best to get it over with. The nurse nodded, and vanished through the flimsy green curtains. She reappeared a few minutes later with a phone, a jug of fresh water and a glass.

Hwoarang took a drink and tried to collect his thoughts before punching in Baek’s number. Baek answered almost immediately.

“Hwoarang. How are you?”

“Master, I’m fine. Just in the medical centre but I’ll be out soon.”

“Good. Come back to Korea as soon as you can.”

“I – I have something I want to do.”

“Is it anything to do with why you lost that fight?”

Baek’s words hurt almost as much as Paul’s punches but he wasn’t saying anything untrue. That was Baek’s way, direct and to the point. It wasn’t Baek’s fault that the truth hurt so much. Hwoarang stayed silent. He didn’t know what he could answer to that.

“Hwoarang. I don’t know exactly what’s going on with you but I promise, your current course of action is a waste of time. Come home and get away from it. You can come back from this.”

Baek spoke gently, but this only compounded how Hwoarang felt. He imagined what Baek had thought, watching the match. Frustration at the wasted first round, when he was barely trying. Hope in the second round as Hwoarang reined his mind in and stuck to the lessons he had learned; discipline, patience and self-control. And finally, dismay as Hwoarang couldn’t shut out the distractions and fell to a punch he should have dodged.

“Master, I’m sorry.”

He heard Baek sigh.

“I know, Hwoarang, I know. Just get some rest and come home when you can.”

“Yes, Master, I – I’ll call you when I reach Osaka.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

Baek hung up and the receiver went quiet in Hwoarang’s hand. He sank back on his pillows and nodded to the nurse when she came back to retrieve the phone. A thought struck him and he pushed himself back up on his elbows with some effort.

“Hey, did I have any visitors?”

“No, sir,” the nurse said, with such pity on her face that Hwoarang was immediately sorry he’d asked.

Of course not.

“Thanks,” he managed, sinking back below his sheets.


	5. Indomitable Spirit

Five days later, he was discharged from the medical centre. He felt a bit sluggish from the lack of exercise and poor food, and the idea of packing up and going back to Korea seemed better and better.

His ferry ticket had been open-ended, so it didn’t really matter what time of day or night he got there. First he had to pack up his few belongings and check out, and  then get his bike. Pack light, travel fast. It had been how he’d always done things and it was useful for times like now, when he just wanted to get away and not see anyone.

Well, that wasn’t **strictly** true, but it looked as though the feeling wasn’t returned. He thought of Baek’s words again, about Julia’s speculations on Heihachi, everything he’d ever heard. The Mishimas were bad news, and that included Jin.

On his way back, there were few people around. Was the tournament really over? Only one way to find out. He made his way back to the information centre.

The winner of the King of the Iron Fist Tournament is Heihachi Mishima!

_Huh? What happened to Jin?_

He followed the listings. Jin hadn’t fought a match since his mysterious win against ??? which should have put him through into the semi-finals against Paul. Paul had been knocked out by Heihachi. Something very strange had happened here. But how did someone just disappear from the tournament listings like that? _Maybe Jin had withdrawn_ , he thought. The board wouldn’t recognise that.

It was the only explanation that made sense, but it still, somehow, didn’t sit well with him. Hwoarang stepped away from the board. He wasn’t going to get any answers here. Baek could fill him in when he got back.

He went for a quick last meal of soy ramen. It was a different place than the one he had gone with Jin and the food wasn’t as good, but it filled him up all the same. As night fell, he made his way back to his room and packed up his things. Checking out was straightforward and then he was outside the gates of the Mishima Compound hoping he’d left enough in the tank to get a good run towards Osaka.

 _Waste of time_ , he thought, with one final glance back towards the compound.

Once he got into the city proper, he felt better. He spotted a bare spot by the river, in the middle of an industrial district, not a soul in sight. He could sit and collect his thoughts for a while before getting out of the city.

At this hour, the river was ink-black and the quay was silent. The scant breeze barely stirred his hair. He watched the city, glittering and beautiful, spread out before him. Time to move on, soon. He knew some people liked nature but Hwoarang was a city boy by birth and at heart. He’d always feel more at home somewhere like this.

A series of hurried steps behind him snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned around. Behind him, Jin Kazama was hurrying into one of the warehouses. By the way he held his arm, it looked as though he was carrying an injury.

Hwoarang held his breath, and watched as several Tekken Force soldiers followed Jin close behind. They looked around them but they didn’t see him in their hurry. Hwoarang felt his throat clench and he fixed his goggles atop his head to secure his hair in place.

The blood pounded in his temples for the first time in days. It didn’t take much to get him ready for a fight, but to go after a wounded man like that? Cowards, fucking scum every one. Hwoarang thought of Heihachi Mishima’s sneering eyes and booming laugh, and gritted his teeth.

He dashed into the warehouse to see the Tekken Force thugs surrounding Jin, who had his head down. He still refused to surrender to them, though, and the soldiers seemed reluctant to make a move.

 _Must have strict orders to take him alive_.

It was all the space Hwoarang needed. He darted and kicked and the Tekken Force were totally overwhelmed, trying to shield themselves from his swift kicks, snapping safeties off just that second too slow.

In the space behind them, Jin was standing upright now. He edged towards the door and as Hwoarang downed the last goon he caught Jin’s eye and waved his hands frantically.

_Go. Go!_

Jin inclined his head, a silent gesture of thanks, and with a single, bounding jump that no human should have been able to make, he leapt through the top warehouse’s window to freedom. Hwoarang stood still in shock, unable to believe his eyes, but the whack-whack-whack of nearing helicopters brought him out of it. He needed to get out of there before the inevitable backup arrived to take care of business.

His bike waited down by the river. Hwoarang pulled out a hoodie and zipped it up, covering his bright hair. It would be enough to get him out of here to somewhere cooler, they weren’t searching for him.

He looked up at the helicopters. Their searchlight beams criss-crossed down to the ground, ferreting out every corner and hiding spot. Again, he wondered where Jin had got to. Maybe Jin had stashed his own bike somewhere and was already far down the motorway to freedom.

 _If Jin could jump like that, what else could he do? No wonder there were so many of them after him_.

A beam hit his bike, and Hwoarang shivered, and kicked off.

He stuck to the side streets, and stayed away from police and anywhere where he might get pulled over. Just enough to manage to get out of this fucking city. After successfully navigating a sidestreet without knocking over a single trashcan, he stopped for a minute to check his bike. Hwoarang was so busy that he didn’t notice the shadow behind him, but he froze as soon as he heard the voice.

“Hey.”

Jin was behind him, clutching his wounded arm in the same way. Hwoarang stared at him, eyes wide, as he remembered the way Jin had jumped. He didn’t want to ask how Jin had managed to cross the city as fast as he had, while carrying an injury. No, that wasn’t right. He did want to ask but maybe – he didn’t want to know just now. Better that way.

“Jin! What happened?! Why were those guys after you?”

“I can’t explain right now,” Jin said, “but please. Could you get me out of here? I need to rest and let this heal – I don’t know if I can make it on my own.”

The very definition of a foregone conclusion. Hwoarang looked at him.

“Can you hang on, with that? I drive fast.”

“I’m fine. I just – I can’t fight too well with it.”

“Ok,” Hwoarang threw his leg over the bike, “get on.”

Jin immediately squeezed up behind him, body warm and pressed against him, but Hwoarang couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. It would mean both their lives if they were caught. He didn’t think the Tekken Force guys trying to kill on Heihachi Mishima’s orders would care too much about taking down some random Korean kid too.

“Do you have enough to get us out of Tokyo?”

“Yeah, I’ll need to stop at some point but I’m headed back to Osaka.”

Jin seemed to relax a bit. “Ok, I think just getting out of Tokyo will be fine.”

That was enough, and Hwoarang started his engine and kicked off.

It was one thing trying to avoid attention when it was just him, but Jin was another matter entirely.

The city was lit everywhere, and more discreet routes were often blocked off or contained drunks or other lowlifes that he’d have to fight off. They got a break when Hwoarang noticed a bike outside a convenience store with two helmets jauntily balanced on the back.

He slowed down and behind him Jin shifted and muttered “What are you doing?”

Hwoarang’s arm shot out and he snatched the nearest helmet, bright pink with cherry blossoms, right off the bike. They pulled over a few minutes later and he shoved it at Jin.

“Come on. It’ll be less easy to spot you if you’re wearing this.”

Jin narrowed his eyes but he didn’t object and put the helmet on. Despite the situation, Hwoarang couldn’t help laughing; he looked ridiculous.

“It would help if you could look like a woman too.”

He couldn’t see Jin’s face but he was sure there was either an eyeroll or a muttered curse behind that visor. Maybe even both.

They got back on the bike and made their way back on the road. Hwoarang felt more confident about their prospects and while he still avoided the helicopter beams, he took more direct routes and soon they were on the outskirts of the city, speeding down the motorway.

“Jin. Where do we go now?”

“Exit 6,” Jin said, muffled behind him. Hwoarang looked for the sign and sure enough he soon spotted it. He didn’t recognise the name of the place though.

Further down the motorway was a service station; he didn’t want to run out when he didn’t know where they were going. He pulled over and filled up the tank. Thankfully, nobody apart from a sleepy clerk was around, and they were soon on their way again.

Hwoarang reached the exit and as soon as they were through, he understood why Jin wanted to go there. Sheer mountain walls sprang up and surrounded them. At this time of night, traffic was almost non-existent.

Lights guided their way but they were almost totally alone in the world. How far out of Tokyo were they now? Hwoarang hadn’t known somewhere like this existed so near to the city, but Jin obviously had. How did Jin even know a place like this anyway? He shivered, and Jin pulled closer to him.

Hwoarang was so tired. Now that they had escaped the immediate danger, his mind slipped back to Jin wrapped around him, the time they’d spent together, everything else. It was too much. Too much and he still wanted more. What did that say about him.

“Hey. There.” Jin moved behind him, and his finger jutted out to a small wood looming off the road.

Huh? Was this a joke?

Hwoarang pulled over and stopped. Jin slid off the bike and pulled the helmet off.

“You can have this.”

“Wait, are you serious? Is this it?”

He could barely see Jin’s face in the dim light from the road. Jin stepped nearer.

“I know this place. I can rest here and escape to somewhere else. I know where I’m going.”

“What – Jin? There’s nothing here.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll be fine. You – you’ve helped me more than you will ever know.”

“Jin. Jin! I’m sick of this. What’s happening? Where did you go? Why won’t you tell me anything?”

Now Jin was inches away.

“I’m sorry – truly. I wish I could explain, but I can’t put you in any more danger than I have already. By the time I worked out what was going on, it was too late to protect you. I’m sorry.”

Hwoarang was furious. He shoved Jin, who simply stood his ground and stared at him.

“Why the fuck would you do this? You’re just going to leave without an explanation?”

“I’m sorry,” Jin said, and he sounded it, weary and broken. But he stood in place.

“I don’t fucking believe this.”

Jin came closer.

“I can’t explain what has happened to you when I barely understand it myself. My grandfather he – he tried to kill me. And I’ve put you in danger by allowing you to get close to me. I – “

This was what Hwoarang had been waiting for.

“So you regret what happened between us?”

“Not exactly. I – ”

“Fuck you, Jin!”

“Hwoarang!” Jin snapped and his voice was as sharp as he’d ever heard it. “You aren’t listening to me. You never listen!”

Hwoarang’s eyes widened. Baek accused him of the same thing all the time and maybe it was true, but for Hwoarang, actions **always** spoke louder than words. Why should Jin be the exception to the rule?

“This – what has happened. It’s bigger than that. You saw for yourself what the situation was.”

“Sure.”

“I regret drawing you into this but,” Jin stepped right up to him, “I don’t regret what happened between us, and I don’t have any regrets now.”

Jin drew him into a kiss, and it was like none of those that had preceded it. It was slow, and sad and Hwoarang thought he tasted salt in his mouth. Jin held him close, like he never wanted to let him go, and when they finally drew apart Hwoarang was speechless.

“Do you believe me now?”

“Yeah, I do. Jin, where are you going?”

“I can’t tell you. If they think you know they’ll come after you, and then we’ll both be in danger. You’re safer the less you know. Please.”

It struck Hwoarang, and he felt a curious pricking in his eyes, not that he had cried since he was fifteen and he thought he’d disappointed Baek. The words just wouldn’t come, and he had to choke them out.

“Look after yourself Jin, ok? I still want to have that fight.”

“We’ll meet again,” Jin said, and with a final wave he disappeared into the blackness of the woods.

Hwoarang waited until he’d gone, and kicked the pink helmet as far as he could, howling with pain. The throbbing in his foot was something immediate to focus on, and it helped distract from the ache in his chest. Sticking around here wouldn’t do any of them any good. It was time to get back to Seoul.

Every fibre in his body resisted moving, though. He felt the pull towards the woods, and he longed to follow Jin. Who was to say that they couldn’t get out together? He could help Jin. They could fight together. It was pointless. It was-

It wasn’t what Jin had wanted. As much as he wanted to follow Jin, he had to respect his wishes. As much as it hurt. His breathing felt ragged, and he took one final look at the darkness of the woods and turned away.

 _Don’t look back or you’ll never leave_.

Dashing back down the motorway, he pulled back his hood and let the wind washing over his face pull out his hair and dry the tears trailing down both cheeks. He had to stop thinking of Jin, and respect his wishes. If he thought too much about it, he’d turn the bike around and go back – or worse, plough straight into the back of an 18-wheeler and then they’d never get to have that rematch.

He’d done all he could. Time would tell whether Jin Kazama made it. He had a funny feeling they’d meet again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this story, recip! I've wanted to write for you for a long time and I was delighted to get this chance.
> 
> A few notes on the actual fic:  
> \- The tournament structure is strange, I had it in my head that it would work a certain way but then I wondered; considering that Ogre never gets mentioned in canon again, isn't it very possible the whole match was a mystery? Considering we know Jin got shot in the head afterwards. I can't imagine that fitting in well with the media coverage that we see in all the other Tekkens.  
> \- This originally started out as a story that went with the background of T3 & T4 to finish up with T7 and Hwoarang literally taking a grenade to protect Jin. About 6000 words later I realised that just wasn't going to happen and this ended up being just a T3 story. I hope you don't mind; T3 is where I started shipping them as soon as I saw Hwoarang's ending, and I've shipped them ever since.  
> \- The story doesn't really fit in with your prompts, but I did try to hit your likes.  
> \- There's a lot of Baek in here because T6/TT2 gave us a lot of lovely Baek & Hwoa interaction and I really love their relationship.  
> \- Jin in this is cocky and confident as he is in T3 - he's unafraid and he has that great cocky head-toss at the start of rounds - you know, before his granddad shoots him in the head and we get warier, angrier Jin.  
> \- Title: both a comment on their youth (they're 19!) and what could have been had canon gone a different way.


End file.
